Considering myself lucky for a place to live, I woke up this morning with my basic needs met. I have shelter, hot water, food, my kids and some luxuries (tv, internet, a universal remote cell phone). What I don’t have, to the standards one SHOULD have, is heat.
Now, I’m not talking maintaining 72 degrees 24/7. That’s crazy, even in my opinion, but I’d rather enjoy it not being 46 in my bedroom and office, either. When the weather turns cold I have nice little routine. I’m going to share it with you then explain WHY the routine is necessary.
- Get up and plug in/turn on (this morning) 2 electric heaters.
- Reset the kerosene heater (that hasn’t worked properly in 2 years but will kick out a little heat when reset 50x/day.
- Go upstairs (where it is is 70 degrees), set the Keurig and use the facilities.
- Get my coffee and come back downstairs to start writing…and resetting that heater.
Ok, this house is 107 years old. It isn’t properly insulated, not even really finished to what would be considered acceptable by many standards. I look up and see the living room’s sub-floor. None of the ceilings down here are insulated. I repeat: none. There’s no drywall, paneling or tile either. It’s just open beams. Couple that with the faulty kerosene heater and you’ve got a seriously fucking cold 1st floor in the winter. Especially in February when we see sustained negative temperatures. Last winter I slept on the couch upstairs a lot because it was simply too cold to sleep down here, even with the my fire hazard electric blanket (to which I’m building a shrine).
The exterior door down here blows, too. Literally. I look over and can see sunlight peeping through the jams (latch and bottom). There’s a roll of squishy foam-like weatherstripping stuff with the door’s name on it, and it WILL be going on today.
Here’s the part that just totally set me off this morning in particular. I went upstairs for routine point #3 to find The Other Adult (terms used loosely, I might add) wrapped up in a blanket on the couch watching tv. Fine. It’s 70 up there. Whatever. I walked toward the bathroom and said “I formerly request insulation.” No joke. His reply, over which he might be suffocated in his sleep, was “I’ll go get some insulation and make you a blanket.”
You feed, house and clothe me. Is it too much to ask that I be warm, too? Mind you, I’m wearing 2 pair of socks, flannel pj bottoms, hoodie, tshirt and long-sleeved thermal. The space heater with a temp readout says 49 now. I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit.
Yes, I could go upstairs and work. Where it’s warm. I know that’s what he wants. For me to give in and go live upstairs. Ain’t happening. I like having my own space and quiet and even if I’m a goddamn Popsicle, I’ll continue to be down here just to maintain what microscopic shred of perceived independence I have left.
It’s like a twisted and absolutely funless D/s relationship. All the compliance without the benefits. “Be a good girl and I’ll think about insulating the downstairs” “Take care of ALL the household needs while I sit on my ass, drink with the boys and MAYBE I’ll buy you a new blanket.” Can I has a shiny new collar, too, Master? Maybe a leash? O.o Make sure you check the mileage on the car to ensure I’m going as far as I say when I leave. Or more to the point, request I be granted access beyond the prison walls.
If it weren’t for the kids, I’d be out of here so fast his head would spin.